E-Book, Englisch, 208 Seiten
Reihe: Chandos Asian Studies Series
Political Economy of the Interethnic Unrest in Xinjiang
E-Book, Englisch, 208 Seiten
Reihe: Chandos Asian Studies Series
ISBN: 978-0-08-100403-6
Verlag: Elsevier Reference Monographs
Format: PDF
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)
Provides a combination of narratives and analytical narrativesIncludes annexes which evaluate provincial and interprovincial panel data and information collected and compiled by the authorOffers specialized mathematics and statistical techniques
Rongxing Guo has more than 20 years' experience in teaching and research in regional economics with an emphasis on cross-border issues. He has also worked extensively in Chinese economic issues related to energy and environmental economics. He is Professor and Head of the Regional Economics Committee of the Regional Science Association of China (RSAC) at Peking University. He has an Amazon author's page.
Autoren/Hrsg.
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Prologue A long journey
Abstract It was indeed a long trip to Urumqi, capital of Xinjiang. I remember the whole round trip took me about 1 week by train; trains during the late 1980s did not run as fast as they usually do now. And, of course, the time I spent in the train was quite boring. During the last stage of the journey, what could be seen through the window was barely of the Gobi desert. However, the long journey did serve as the binoculars through which I was able to have a close observation of the vast Xinjiang and of the diverse ethnic cultures there…. Keywords Xinjiang, Han–Uyghur relations, Han immigration, Urumqi, Hami (Kumul), Korla, Gobi desert, travelogue Day 1: Making friends
The following story happened before the Tiananmen protests in 1989. In reward for my contribution to his academic work, my boss decided to let me participate and, on behalf of him, give a presentation at a conference held in Urumqi, capital of Xinjiang Uyghur autonomous region. I was quite anxious about how I could fulfill this task; obviously, I was not qualified as a keynote speaker because I had only been a junior university staff at that time. But my boss had other, more pressing business to do, and more important, he was not familiar with his paper. My colleagues had reminded me of trying to keep away from Uyghur Muslims. Just before my departure, a series of Han–Uyghur tensions had just occurred in Xinjiang. Through the Voice of America,1 I learned that the Uyghurs in Xinjiang marched through the streets of Urumqi protesting against a wide range of issues, including nuclear testing in the Taklimakan, increased Han immigration to Xinjiang, and ethnic insults at Xinjiang University. In the meantime, there were also reports that Muslims throughout China protested against a children’s book that portrayed Muslims, particularly their restriction against pork, in a derogatory fashion. At last, tensions began to ease after the Chinese government promised to meet most of the Muslims’ demands by condemning the publications, arresting the authors, and closing down the printing houses. Nevertheless, I felt quite lucky that there was no Uyghurs in my railway car. Beside myself, the two other passengers were Han Chinese—one from Hami (or Kumul in Uyghur) and the other from Korla, both in Xinjiang. Throughout the whole journey, I simply referred to them as “Hamier” and “Korlar,” respectively, and they called me “Beijinger” (although I am not a native of Beijing). Even luckier was that both Hamier and Korlar were very hospitable. They told me many interesting stories about Xinjiang as well as their daily lives there. But it seemed that my stomach was not good because of the long trip on the train. I had never had such a long trip via train before. I could not even eat anything on the last day’s journey to Urumqi. Most passengers were complaining that the style and taste of the food provided by the train had never been changed all the days. “Having nothing to eat is not good for you, young man! Not like us, you are going to be away from your home. Try to eat something so that you will be able to do your business well,” Hamier kindly advised me. He picked up a bottle of wine, saying: “Come on! Try to drink it as much as you can. And you will then be able to finish your food. Every time when I travelled from Kumul [he used a Uyghur name to the city of Hami] to inland cities, I would have brought a box [ten bottles] of wine with me—that is life. You know, my company produces the best wine as Xinjiang produces the best grapes.” Hamier looked older than I, so he always spoke and acted like an elder brother. And I accepted this—according to Chinese tradition, elders should be respected. Hamier introduced him as a salesman of a wine production company in Hami. As a Han-Chinese migrant in Xinjiang, his great grandfather came from somewhere in central China. Hamier did not give more details about why and how his ancestor had moved from central China to Xinjiang. And neither did I make further inquiries; I learned that before the 20th century, many of the Han immigrants in Xinjiang were either criminals or officials who had been exiled from inland China. I still remember I was half drunk with the wine Hamier offered. But I felt better now, and I was able to finish the food. “Dear passengers: Attention, please! We are going to arrive at the Yumen Station,” the broadcaster announced. “I am now in Yumen (Jade Pass)!” I shouted. I recalled that I had learned many Tang-style poems about the Jade Pass when I was in school. According to the traditional Chinese culture, a more intelligent man is usually judged to know more ancient Chinese poems. As a smart young scholar (at least I believed so at that time), I decided to recite an ancient poem written by Wang Zhihuan (AD 688–742):2 Where the Yellow river climbs to as far as the clouds, There is a city among ten-thousand-foot mountains. A mourning man is playing the willow song on a flute, As spring breezes never blow through the Jade Pass. This is a folk song–styled verse titled “Beyond the Border” (or chusai in Chinese). Even though most Chinese know some ancient Chinese poems, perhaps many of them could not understand what each word exactly means. For example, in this poem, the term “willow song” (i.e., yangliu qu in Chinese) refers to a popular Han-Chinese music in the Tang dynasty; it was usually played for those who had been drafted into the army. And the “flute” is a music instrument made in bamboo. It was invented and used by the Tartar people living in modern-day Gansu and Xinjiang, although it has also been very popular throughout China. I was quite confident that I had known more about Chinese history than both Hamier and Korlar, just as they had about Xinjiang than I. I thought my presentation should have received applause. “The Yumen you mentioned is still quite far away from here; it is on the west of Dunhuang city. As an important border pass in ancient times, it has now become ruins,” Korlar responded. “Then, why here is also called the Jade Pass?” I asked. Korlar explained that probably it was because ancient Chinese rulers had a strong attachment to jade. He told me that he had watched a TV show in which it was reported that all of the jade items excavated from the Fuhao tomb of the Shang dynasty (3,000 years ago), including hundreds of pieces, were imported from Hotan in modern Xinjiang. He further quoted a textbook of Chinese history as saying that the Yuezhi were the earliest people engaging in the jade trade, of which the major consumers were the rulers of inland China. The Jade Pass I mentioned in Wang Zhihuan’s poem was built by Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty (Figure 0.1).
Figure 0.1 The ruins of the Jade Pass. Day 2: “We” versus “They”
Korlar was a native of Xinjiang. But his parents were from Shanghai and, together with other Chinese soldiers and young female graduates, were resettled in Korla in 1954. And all of them comprised the first batch of members for the No. 2 Agricultural Division of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Crops (Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, or XPCC, is also known as bingtuan in Chinese for short). Korlar did not receive a good education (neither did I) during the 1970s. But because his mother, a graduate from a very prestigious middle school in Shanghai, had been a historian teacher, Korlar had a better knowledge of Chinese history than many others of his age. Korlar was quite outspoken. He told me many interesting stories about his family, his childhood, and his colleagues and friends in Xinjiang. And after the train left the Hami Station, he decided to tell me his personal experiences with the Uyghurs; most of his childhood was spent in a Uyghur-dominated community. When I was wondering why he had not told his stories earlier, Korlar noted Hamier who had just got off the train, reminding me: “Maybe Hamier’s wife is a Uyghur. So we must have been very cautious of him!” “Why is that?” I was rather confused. “I can tell you that Hamier’s Uyghur is more fluent than his Chinese. You know, even though the Han–Uyghur marriage can hardly be found in many places, especially in Nanjiang [southern Xinjiang], it is not the case in the city of Hami, which is located in Beijiang [northern Xinjiang]. Nanjiang and Beijiang are quite different from each other. So Hamier may not be happy if we Han Chinese were talking about Uyghurs if he has a mixed Han–Uyghur family,” he further explained. I began to recall that during our conversions, Hamier had frequently used the Uyghur name “Kumul” when we referred to the city of Hami. Obviously, Korlar’s judgment was fairly reasonable. I was a little bit jealous of Korlar for his intelligence. I was even thinking of a hypothesis that a man, after a long period of living experiences in a culturally diverse community, can become more intelligent. Day 3: “Beating their noses!”
Now, the train, after 3 days since my departure—was near its destination. Before the train arrived at the Urumqi station, Korlar moved closer toward me and wanted to let me share his special...
